


Wasn't There a Time

by hktk



Series: Another Happy Day [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hktk/pseuds/hktk
Summary: Crowley leans forward, placing both hands on the table. He wastes time by smoothing out the tablecloth, and then he whispers: “Are we, you know, on a date?”Aziraphale wasn’t expecting that, and his face slightly darkens with a blush. “A-A date? Well, we’ve always had little dates in the past, haven’t we?”Crowley shakes his head, blessing under his breath again. “No, no... Angel, I mean adate-date.”





	Wasn't There a Time

The restaurant they’re in today is not the Ritz, nor is it very fancy in general. Fancy is usually a subjective term, but it is completely and utterly objective that this little bakery-café is just not very fancy. But it _is_ quaint, and Aziraphale rather likes quaint. The walls are an off-cream color, decorated with photos that have inspirational quotes on them. The bakery case is large, filled with all sorts of goodies for them to choose from. And we mustn’t forget about the fake chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lit up by fake candles.

All in all, it is still right up Aziraphale’s aesthetic alley.

Crowley kicks his knee against the table as he’s adjusting himself. He blesses under his breath, and Aziraphale gives him a concerning look. Crowley gives a wry one back.

Aziraphale has noticed[1], that Crowley, this entire time that they’ve been in this cute little bakery-café, is nervous.

Now, Crowley is not usually nervous. He’s never really anxious[2]. It’s been about two months since the Not-End-of-the-World, and Aziraphale cannot figure out, for the life of him, what exactly is bothering his demon.

He puts another forkful of his cake into his mouth. It’s rather sweet — just the way Aziraphale likes it. The icing is delectable, especially the little flower made from it. It has a citrusy bite to it, as well, which makes for good taste on the taste buds, mingling together.

Perhaps it’s because they kissed. This is the first time they’ve been out to dinner since Aziraphale kissed him, and maybe it wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Aziraphale seems slightly crestfallen at the idea that it was that, if only because he had really enjoyed it — and Crowley had really enjoyed it at the time.

But perhaps Crowley thought more of it, and he had decided that he rather didn’t like it after all. That would... Well, that would be okay with Aziraphale if that were the case. No one has to like kissing him, after all, and he’s certain he’s not a very good kisser in the first place.

Aziraphale’s little thought process is cut short when Crowley hisses[3]. Aziraphale looks up at this, away from his cake, and sees Crowley picking stuff off of his sandwich. The angel leans forward slightly, watching Crowley pick everything that is on the sandwich besides the ham off of it.

“Did they put tomatoes on this thing? Lord knows I hate tomatoes,” he says with a bite, just like the citrusy cake that Aziraphale is eating[4]. He looks up at Aziraphale, who looks back at him, and raises a brow. “What? What is it? Don’t give me such a sad look, angel.”

Aziraphale clears his throat, dabbing at his lips with a napkin daintily. His perfectly manicured nails glint in the light, and he takes a moment to inspect them to make sure they’re as clean as they were when he started eating. He’s just biding his time, though.

“Well, I had been wondering the same thing, Crowley,” he says after another few moments. “You look like you’re on edge. This entire time. Whatever has gotten into you? You can tell me anything, you know, and I’ll be glad to listen. After all, there was that one time in—”

Crowley waves a hand. “I know, I know,” he sighs. “Don’t start rambling on me. You know how you get when you ramble.”

Suddenly, Aziraphale wonders if Crowley truly dislikes that about him. Should he stop rambling? But he’s usually unaware of such things occurring, so he couldn’t even stop if he tried... But if Crowley dislikes it, then—

Well, it seems like his thoughts ramble, as well.

Because Aziraphale doesn’t say anything, Crowley continues on, adjusting his glasses on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with me, angel. I’m perfectly fine. Fit as a fiddle, right as rain. What would even give you that idea? In fact, I’m always fine. I’m fine right now, and I’ll be fine to—”

“Crowley,” interrupts Aziraphale. “Now _you’re_ rambling. Which means there’s definitely something wrong.”

Underneath his glasses, Crowley looks around. He swallows thickly, and Aziraphale thinks this is it. He’s going to tell him to never kiss him again. He’s going to tell him that he hated it, that he — that he _detested_ it, loathed it, and another word for hate that is slightly higher on the scale of words to use.

Crowley leans forward, placing both hands on the table. He wastes time by smoothing out the tablecloth, and then he whispers: “Are we, you know, on a date?”

Aziraphale wasn’t expecting that, and his face slightly darkens with a blush. “A-A date? Well, we’ve always had little dates in the past, haven’t we?”

Crowley shakes his head, blessing under his breath again. “No, no... Angel, I mean a _date_ -date.”

Aziraphale still doesn’t understand the difference quite entirely. “We had one just last week, didn’t we? We went out and got groceries.”

Crowley hisses again, lowering his head. “Y-You consssidered that a _date_? At the sssupermarket? No, you’re not understanding... I mean, a _date_ , like the ones little old married couples take. The ones freshly married couples take. And the ones that, that couples who have yet to take that final leap into love take.”

Aziraphale stares at him incredulously, and then he squeaks. “What?” he breathes through a mouth that doesn’t, can’t move. “A date?”

Crowley nods, lowering his head to the table, just barely missing his plate. The voice that results from such a gesture that comes afterwards is muffled. “A date, angel. Are we on a date?”

Aziraphale doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know _how_ to answer. Is this a date? It had never, ever, in all the six _thousand_ years he’s been with Crowley, occurred to the angel that they could possibly be taking _dates_. They had just met up because of the Arrangement[5], but now the Arrangement was no more, and there was no more reason for them to keep on meeting.

Yet they did. It was a curious thing.

So Aziraphale still doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not that he dislikes the idea of it being a date, but he’s extremely ill-prepared mentally to even think of it. A date... A romantic date? He really hasn’t thought of it, and it’s driving him mad.

Crowley stands up suddenly, nearly knocking over his glass of water on the table. He steadies it, adjusts his glasses, then clears his throat. “Just remembered I’ve got something I have to attend to,” he says rather bluntly. “Sssorry to cut this short. Be in touch later with you.”

He shrugs on his coat that had been hanging off of the back of the chair and hurries out of the bakery-café, leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts[6].

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do. He buries his face in his hands, a blush taking over his face easily, the more he thinks about what’s happening.

Aziraphale finishes up his food, no longer having an appetite, and pays, leaving and bracing the rare bits of sun that shine through the clouds. By the time he gets back to the bookshop that he had decided to run, it’s rather late, and the sun had gone down a little bit prior to arriving.

Crowley does not get in touch with him that night, and Aziraphale has trouble sleeping[7]]. He tosses and turns all night, and at four-seventeen in the morning he decides it’s just time for him to get up for the day. So he does.

He yawns as he bathes and changes for the day, wearing the same thing as usual. He rather likes this coat. He sits down and decides to read a book he’s just gotten in, before he has to inevitably fight off the customers that want to buy it.

At around noon, he’s restless again. He gets up from the sofa in the main room, peering out from behind the curtains hanging on the door. It’s another sunny, warm day, and Crowley still hasn’t contacted him.

So Aziraphale goes to the phone, but he makes pause. What should he tell him? That he doesn’t mind if they were romantic dates? That their little meetings can be whatever Crowley wants them to be? Both of those sound cruel and lifeless, so he can’t decide which is the lesser of two evils.

He dials Crowley’s number and gets the voicemail. He waits for the message to play before speaking. “Crow—”

That’s all it takes, as if Crowley were waiting for him to call, for Crowley to pick up the phone on the other end of the line. His smooth, warm voice cuts through the otherwise silence in the bookshop.

“ _Angel, that you?_ ”

“Yes, it’s me. I was... I just wanted to tell you something.”

_“Yeah?_ ”

It’s at this point that Aziraphale remembers that he did not prepare anything to say. He fumbles over his words. “I, I... Well, I was thinking... That I did not... I didn’t mind it...” He doesn’t say what. He can feel a blush creeping up his neck and ears. “And, and, it’s true, that we meet up, a lot, and that you can see them as dates... but... But I’ve never... I never thought about it, so, so, so, Crowley, will you... will you go on a date with me?”

He’s expecting rejection after the ensuing silence. After all, he never really figured out Crowley’s true feelings on the matter of their meetings being dates, and he had just assumed they were positive feelings. If he had misassumed, then things could go sour very quickly. Very, very quickly.

He hears a little clink sound, and for a second, he thinks the line has gone dead and that was that. That that was the end of their little meetings, the end of their dates before they had even begun. He’s holding the phone rather tightly.

But Crowley’s soft, warm voice spills into his ear soon after. “Blasted thing, sorry, dropped the phone, sorry. Um, what was that, angel?”

“I... I asked, if you would, like to go on a date with me, but if you don’t want to go, that’s fine too, and I’m sorry for assuming that you would want to go on a date with me; after all, I’m—”

“Yes,” Crowley says, breathless. “Yes, angel. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Aziraphale swallows. “... Well, that’s that, then, I suppose. When would you like to go—”

“Tonight.”

“—out? Tonight? Oh, that’s so soon.”

“I can be ready,” says Crowley. “My treat. I’ll come pick you up.” The line _does_ go dead after that, and Aziraphale is alone in his thoughts again.

“... But he didn’t ask if _I_ can be ready...” he sighs.

* * *

Crowley arrives fashionably late. Or, well, there was no set time, so he arrives on time, Aziraphale supposes. But it’s getting rather late. So Crowley may as well be late. He’s so late, in fact, that Aziraphale thinks he’s canceled, and Aziraphale thinks that that would be okay. After all, no one has to go on dates with him.

He paces along the bookshop. He had taken two more showers and one bath in order to get ready, trying to pick out the clothes that he should wear in between each. He had decided on his usual outfit, again, but if Crowley’s wearing something different than _his_ usual clothes, he’ll be sh—he’ll be out of luck. It’s not as if he can change.

There comes a knock on the door, and Aziraphale jumps where he stands. “Closed! W-We’re closed! We won’t open tomorrow either!”

“Angel, it’s me,” comes Crowley’s voice.

He sounds... He sounds nervous, and now Aziraphale is even more nervous. He’s anxious, even, and he might even be on the verge of a panic attack. He swallows it as best as he can, going to open the door. He’s met face to face with Crowley, who, contrasting his all black, usual appearance (oh thank Heavens), he’s holding pure, white lilies.

Crowley thrusts the flowers at Aziraphale. “Humans, uh, humans do this.”

Aziraphale takes the flowers, eyes lighting up. He rubs his thumb over one of the petals. “Oh. They’re lovely, Crowley. Thank you.”

“They’ll, uh. They’ll last forever, or you can press them, or whatever it is you want to do with them.”

Aziraphale’s nerves are settled a little, even as he remembers this is a romantic gesture, and he smiles at him. He re-enters the bookshop he had decided to run, setting the small bouquet on one of the counters as he retrieves a vase with water. Crowley stands awkwardly outside as Aziraphale sets the flowers in the vase, setting it down back on the counter.

“... Simply lovely,” he repeats, then he turns to Crowley. Who looks terribly nervous. His nose is even red.

Aziraphale returns to stand in front of him, smoothing his shaking hands over Crowley’s shoulders in order to calm him. That always did work. Aziraphale gives him a broader smile, and Crowley takes both of Aziraphale’s hands, still near his shoulders, in his own.

He leans down and kisses Aziraphale right on the lips, surprising him, making him squeak in such surprise. It’s a chaste, quick kiss, and so Crowley pulls away quickly, leaning back to judge Aziraphale’s reaction.

Aziraphale’s reaction is as follows: His eyes are wide, and his cheeks deeply flushed, from his neck to his ears, all over; his hands tremble and shake even more, in Crowley’s grasp, and he looks up at Crowley earnestly.

“Let’s go,” says Crowley quickly, letting go of one of Aziraphale’s hands in order to turn and lead him to his car. Aziraphale barely has time to close the door and lock up, but Crowley patiently waits.

As they get into the car, Aziraphale asks innocently, “Where are we going?”

“... I thought St. James’s park at this night might be nice. I’ve prepared a picnic.”

A moonlit picnic... Well, it’s different than the one they had a few weeks prior, for sure. It’ll be different for other reasons, too.

They zip through the streets of London, Aziraphale holding on for dear life. Crowley plays no music this time, so their time spent is quiet. They arrive at the park just before closing time, and although the park is still open, there’s hardly anyone here.

The clouds have even parted for them, as Crowley leads Aziraphale to the pondside. Aziraphale looks up at the stars, at the constellations he can hardly see, at the round moon that stares down at them and wishes him good luck on this date.

Oh, right. It’s a date. He swallows, nervous, squeezing Crowley’s hand a little bit tighter. Crowley squeezes back, giving him a reassuring look over his shoulder.

Crowley lays out the blanket and sets the basket down, and then he helps Aziraphale sit, sitting next to him soon after, rather than across like so many of their other meetings. Their shoulders touch lightly, and Aziraphale feels as if he may pass out at any moment.

Aziraphale clears his throat. Crowley does, as well.

“Well, here we are,” says Crowley, unwrapping some food for Aziraphale and holding it out to him. Aziraphale takes it gratefully, with a small thank you. “I brought your favorite things. That’s why I was so late. Ssssorry.”

He hisses again, and Aziraphale looks down at the cake in his hands. It’s the same citrusy cake from the day prior. Had Aziraphale mentioned that he liked it a lot? Well, it _was_ one of his favorites, regardless of whether or not he mentioned it.

“You’re apologizing too much,” Aziraphale says as he takes a bite, savoring the bite. “It’s far out of character.”

“... Sorry.”

“See? Don’t do that, Crowley. Here.”

Aziraphale holds out a forkful of cake to him, and Crowley messily takes it into his mouth, nodding.

“Better?”

“You have, uh,” starts Crowley, unsure, “something.” He leans forward and kisses the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, lapping up a bit of icing with his tongue. Aziraphale shudders, nearly dropping the cake in his hands.

“I suppose you’re better, then,” comments Aziraphale.

Crowley finally smiles, taking off his glasses and setting them to his right. He uses his free hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, kissing him on the lips again.

This time, Aziraphale isn’t so surprised. He even kisses back. 

* * *

1 Of course he’s noticed — he’s been with Crowley for over six thousand years and even stopped the apocalypse. [return to text]

2 In fact, it seems that when Crowley _is_ anxious, it’s transferred to Aziraphale instead, so he can be anxious for the both of them, but there is no reason for Aziraphale to be nervous in this instance, so he’s simply enjoying his time, even if he’s a little bit worried. [return to text]

3 Being a demon of the... snakey variety, we all know that Crowley tends to hiss when he forgets himself. He’s been doing it rather often today at this meeting that should be like any other meeting they’ve had before. [return to text]

4 And just like the citrusy cake that Aziraphale is eating, Crowley does have his sweet side, which is demonstrated quite clearly in the next few words. If he didn’t have such a sweet side for the angel, he perhaps would have said something more along the lines of: ‘Oh, bugger off with that look. There’s nothing wrong with you.’ And we all know that that would have simply made Aziraphale even sadder. [return to text]

5 On Tuesdays, back in the thirteenth century, they would meet up even without regard for the Arrangement. It had been Crowley’s idea to do this, now that Aziraphale thinks about it. [return to text]

6 And also the bill, but Aziraphale didn’t mind that too much. [return to text]

7 It’s not as if he needs sleep, but he does quite enjoy it. It’s one of the finer things in life, especially when he dreams a good dream. Especially now that Heaven has stopped trying to contact him through such dreams. [return to text]


End file.
